The Orchid

by Eileen Murphy

How does she survive--

out in the cold,

roots naked?

Survive the rains

by combing her hair,

ruining it with an early sunset,

a razor

that erases, erases?

Geckos scamper

when disturbed, but

the orchid won’t budge,

stubbornly refusing to die.

She keeps roots well-braced,

braiding them with leaves

and seeds

while her flowery future

sleeps in bare beds.

* * * * *

A former Chicagolander, Eileen Murphy now lives 30 miles from Tampa. She received her Masters degree from Columbia College, Chicago. She teaches literature and English at Polk State College in Lakeland and has recently published poetry in Thirteen Myna Birds, Tinderbox (nominated for Pushcart Prize), Yes Poetry, The American Journal of Poetry, Rogue Agent, Deaf Poets Society, and other journals. Her website is mishmurphy.com.

Nocturne

after Eric Satie, “Gymnopedie No. 2”

by Eileen Murphy

my dead baby brother’s footsteps

are the rain

on the roof tonight

piano chords reach

for me

like arms

after the storm

a humid mist

descends

& feathers trail

from a faint full moon

soon disappearing

* * * * *

A former Chicagolander, Eileen Murphy now lives 30 miles from Tampa. She received her Masters degree from Columbia College, Chicago. She teaches literature and English at Polk State College in Lakeland and has recently published poetry in Thirteen Myna Birds, Tinderbox (nominated for Pushcart Prize), Yes Poetry, The American Journal of Poetry, Rogue Agent, Deaf Poets Society, and other journals. Her website is mishmurphy.com.

occultation

by Isabel del Rio

in 357 B.C.

Aristotle recorded the Moon covering

Mars,

a mere satellite

concealing the belligerent

planet,

showing off that it

can do so and get away with it:

“Why,

I can stand in the way and leave Mars

out of the picture!”

Satellite

where any mark blistering it

survives

forever

or at least for ten million years because there is no wind

and no motion, a cratered

landscape

almost perfectly preserved, as it was

when created 4.5 billion years ago, no

atmosphere,

no air, on this side crevices of

hardened magma, whereas the far side is a smoother, gentler

body,

unmoved by all the fuss we make about it, it hides half of itself

from view, as if inadmissible

evidence,

so conveniently close that we can explore it

and find it is nothing but a

relic,

but sufficiently far away that we can call it what we want

and it will remain, for our sake and in our defense, in total

silence

* * * * *

"occultation" is from Isabel del Rio's poetry collection The Moon at the End of my Street (published by Friends of Alice Publishing, 2016)

Isabel del Rio is a bilingual poet and writer living in London.  She has published fiction and poetry in both English and Spanish, and has worked extensively as a linguist and journalist.  Her writing has also appeared in anthologies and online magazines.  Her most recent published work of fiction is Zero Negative, a collection of short stories on the subject of bloodshed, and her latest poetry book is The moon at the end of my street.  Her forthcoming works are two collections of short stories and a novel.  She regularly takes part in readings and performance poetry events. Website:  www.isabeldelrio.com

four hundred times

by Isabel del Rio

the symmetry of a total solar eclipse

happens

because, by perfect chance,

the Sun is four hundred times larger than

the Moon,

but also four hundred times

remoter

from the Earth, and this

simple coincidence

makes these two bodies, Sun and

Moon, stellar bodies so meaningful to us (for our lives

rotate around them, in more ways than one)

appear as

having exactly the same size

on the sky,

one covering the other

flawlessly during such an eclipse, and so

my advice is that if

you are going to create a

coincidence, make

it as mind-blowing as this one

* * * * *

"four hundred times" is from Isabel del Rio's poetry collection The Moon at the End of my Street (published by Friends of Alice Publishing, 2016)

Isabel del Rio is a bilingual poet and writer living in London.  She has published fiction and poetry in both English and Spanish, and has worked extensively as a linguist and journalist.  Her writing has also appeared in anthologies and online magazines.  Her most recent published work of fiction is Zero Negative, a collection of short stories on the subject of bloodshed, and her latest poetry book is The moon at the end of my street.  Her forthcoming works are two collections of short stories and a novel.  She regularly takes part in readings and performance poetry events. Website:  www.isabeldelrio.com

Proserpine

by Katherine L. Gordon

Beneath starkening trees

in a storm of time

the god of the underworld calls me,

shaking the earth in a rage of longing.

Sun-days mirage into caverns of dark.

Doubting renewal I hide in light dapples

while tongues of angels

fill my ears, stop my cries,

swirl me into familiar arms

of cold unknown.

In the cauldron of granite

I carve my fears,

the earth stands still

stops all motion...

solstice of being.

What will emerge to be recognized?

Everything dissolves in the melt of time

only the fear of nothing

endures.

Laser-light speeding down

the uncaring corridors of time

I breathe in Joan of Arc

exhale the Titans.

* * * * *

Katherine L. Gordon is a rural Ontario poet, publisher, judge, editor and reviewer, working to promote the voices of women poets around the world, as they are now flowering into acclaim.  She has many books, chapbooks, anthologies and collaborations with fine contemporaries whose work inspires her.  Her poems have been translated and awarded internationally.  Latest book: Piping at the End of Days (Valley Press).

Aromatherapy

by Betsy Mars

Hanging empty in the closet are the outlines of

the physical reality of you.

Frequently worn items spared or

not yet relinquished

to moths or good will. Just

your size, your style,

the outer shell of the outer you.

If I hold them up to my ear, will I hear the sea?

If I could fill them – especially

that purple ultrasuede coat that was custom made

for you –

would your earthly body return?

A few bottles of your nail polish solidify

in the medicine cabinet. Your favorite colors.

One last effort to maintain control

over one aspect of your beauty that the cancer

(which took your hair, bloated you,

took away your bladder control and your lovely legs)

could not destroy.

The pull of the bed finally 

caused your muscles and organs to atrophy but

your nails were your domain.

Mostly – most importantly – the remains of

a bottle of French perfume 

that was your staple when I was small

and you were 

an impossibly beautiful scented goddess

and I was my truer self. 

In awe of you always, one whiff upon cracking open

the cracking box is all it takes to reconnect

me with you, with me

as I ride home to myself on

an evaporating trail of fumes.

* * * * *

"Aromatherapy" was first published in the anthology A Poet Is A Poet No Matter How Tall: Episode II: Attack of the Poems (For the Love of Words, 2014).  

Author's note: This is one of the first poems I wrote when I resumed writing after a dry and difficult period in my life. I wrote it to submit to an anthology that a friend was compiling to raise money for a local children’s hospital. I was (and am) still coming to terms with both who my mother was and the fact that she is no more. This poem was first published as a prose piece in that anthology (A Poet Is A Poet No Matter How Tall: Attack of the Poems (For the Love of Words, 2014)). I decided to alter the form but not the content to emphasize various ideas. I have many possessions that I cherish, being fairly sentimental by nature, but the perfume my mother wore during my childhood still has the power to evoke a memory of her on an almost subliminal level, and I am very grateful that it still holds its scent. I wanted to give it, and her, a second life here.

Biography: Betsy Mars is a southern California poet who is in a perpetual battle with change – finally coming to some kind of a truce, and at times even love and acceptance. She is an educator, mother, animal lover, and over-excited traveler. Her poetry has been published in a number of places, both online and in print, most recently in Sheila-Na-Gig, The Ekphrastic Review, and Red Wolf Journal. Writing has given her a means to explore her preoccupation with mortality and her evolving sense of self.

Trickle Down      

by Lynea Search

I been tryin’ to hitch my wagon to a star

I never worked so many hours

And so hard

But I can’t even afford to fix my car

Well this trickle down sure isn’t

Tricklin’ down very far

I heard it on the radio at twelve

Said just one percent of households

Now own almost all the wealth

For years now they’ve been hoardin’ all the dough

Time to open up that money dam

And let that trickle flow

Trickle down,                           

Stocks and savings, trickle down

I’ve been workin’ all my life

To be on solid ground

Trickle down, House and Garden

A reward is owin’ to this workin’ clown

My dad and mom worked hard for little pay

They couldn’t save much money

Had to live from day to day

They never owned a home or went to Spain

Guess the only thing that trickled down to me

Was their name

Trickle down, 

Stocks and savings, trickle down

I’ve been workin’ all my life

To be on solid ground

Trickle down, House and Garden

A reward is owin’ to this workin’ clown

I thought this was the land of the free

And that all of us were blessed with

Equal opportunity

But I’m getting’ nowhere fast

It’s plain to see

That this trickle down sure isn’t

Tricklin’ down to you and me

Trickle down, 

Stocks and savings, trickle down

I’ve been workin’ all my life

To be on solid ground

Trickle down, House and Garden,

Trickle down

A reward is owin’ to this workin’ clown

Yes a reward is owin’ to this workin’ clown

* * * * *

© Lynea Search.

Youtube: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1DfN9nrq_EoVW150svDaABRP8GGEQ081u/view

Lyrics with chords:

KEY OF G                    TRICKLE DOWN             © Lynea Search 1995

                   

                      G                                        A7                      D - D7     

1.) I BEEN TRYIN' TO HITCH MY WAGON TO A STAR

         

           Em                                     A                         D            G

I’VE NEVER WORKED SO MANY HOURS AND SO HARD

             

               G                        A7                                   D - D7

BUT I CAN’T EVEN AFFORD TO FIX MY CAR

                        

                            G                                        Em

WELL THIS TRICKLE DOWN SURE ISN’T TRICKLIN’

 

  Am7       D         G

DOWN VERY FAR!

2.) I HEARD IT ON THE RADIO AT TWELVE

SAID JUST ONE PER CENT OF HOUSEHOLDS

NOW OWN ALMOST ALL THE WEALTH

FOR YEARS NOW THEY’VE BEEN HOARDIN’

ALL THE DOUGH

TIME TO OPEN UP THAT MONEY DAM

AND LET THAT TRICKLE FLOW!

                                       

                                         G                                       C

CHORUS: TRICKLE DOWN, STOCKS AND SAVINGS,

  

   D                 G

TRICKLE DOWN

 G                                     Em

I’VE BEEN WORKIN’ ALL MY LIFE

       

       Am7                     D

TO BE ON SOLID GROUND

                    

                      

                   

                   G                                     C                                                             C

TRICKLE DOWN, HOUSE AND GARDEN [Last Ch: CORPORATE TAX CUTS]

   

 D/F#             G

TRICKLE DOWN

     

        G                   Em     Am7          D                G

A  REWARD IS OWIN’ TO THIS WORKIN’ CLOWN

INSTRUMENTAL BREAK – Verse Chords

3.) MY DAD AND MOM WORKED HARD FOR LITTLE PAY

THEY COULDN’T SAVE MUCH MONEY,

HAD TO LIVE FROM DAY TO DAY

THEY NEVER OWNED A HOME OR WENT TO SPAIN

GUESS THE ONLY THING THAT TRICKLED DOWN

TO ME WAS THEIR NAME!

REPEAT CHORUS

4.) I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE LAND OF THE FREE

AND THAT ALL OF US WERE BLESSED WITH

EQUAL OPPORTUNITY

BUT I’M GETTING NOWHERE FAST, IT’S PLAIN TO SEE

THAT THIS TRICKLE DOWN SURE ISN’T TRICKLIN’

DOWN TO YOU AND ME!

REPEAT CHORUS – Repeat Last Line